


acid test

by belial



Series: pH indicators [2]
Category: CA:TWS - Fandom, Captain America, Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Brock's a Daddy, Dubious Consent, HYDRA PARTY FAVOR TRASH PARTY 2014, M/M, Mpreg, Rape Recovery, baby!Rumlow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 22:13:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1834081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belial/pseuds/belial
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The dates that make a difference in Brock’s life – good and bad – that lead him to a destiny much different than he’d originally anticipated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	acid test

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Кислотный тест](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12951144) by [Saysly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saysly/pseuds/Saysly)



> Notes: A/B/O dynamics and absolute consent issues. 
> 
> Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics. Violent rape occurs off-screen, but the main pairing is dub-con at best after that.

** May 2009 **

Brock stands in the shower, water sluicing over his skin, washing off the sweat from his workout. The S.H.I.E.L.D. gym’s quiet at six in the morning, other agents floating in and out but not in great profusion. The locker room hasn’t yet run out of hot water and Brock groans, tipping his head back to enjoy the spray. 

“He wants you in the Vault,” a voice says, interrupting his silence.

Brock opens his eyes and glares at Rollins, who isn’t doing anything to hide the blatant perusal. Six months have passed since his team ‘helped’ him through his heat, and Jack still doesn’t realize that Brock isn’t going to roll over and beg for him anytime in the near future. “The team?”

“Nope. Just you. ASAP.”

Brock nods, finishes rinsing off, and pushes past Rollins to get out of the shower area. Jack follows him into the locker room, watches him pull on black boxer briefs, dark jeans and a black tee. He sits, laces his boots and waits for the inevitable question.

“So you want to grab dinner tonight? No op.”

Brock sighs. “Thanks, but I have plans.”

“Come on. We haven’t gone anywhere or done anything since…”

“Exactly,” Brock snaps, standing. “And that’s the way we’re gonna keep it.”

“But…”

Brock whirls on his teammate. “I said no, Jack. No. The shit that happened made us a great team, right? So great that both Danny and Thom are dead. I just… I can’t do that with you. Okay?”

“Just because you won’t think about it doesn’t mean we aren’t both gonna die,” Jack replies. “But okay, Bones. If that’s how you want it.”

It’s not how he wants it at all – not what he would love to have from his best friend and second in command. But he won’t admit anything differently, and so he nods and strides out of the room, leaving Jack behind him.

The way he’s learned to leave everything behind.

He heads to the elevator, grabs keys from the motor pool officers and drives away from Triskelion toward downtown D.C. He reaches the bank, walks past the tellers and businessmen towards the elevators in the back. Using his thumbprint, he activates the hidden panel to the elevator, steps in, and descends into the earth toward Alexander Pierce and his scientists.

The Vault’s cold when the doors open; he walks out, suddenly wishing for a jacket. “Sir?” he calls, when he sees the older Alpha. “You wanted me?”

“Ah, yes, glad you’re here, Rumlow,” the man says. “I’ve got a task for you.”

Brock eyes the gated area beyond the front half of the Vault, can hear the shouting and yelling. “Sir?”

“Have you yet heard of the Winter Soldier?” Pierce asks, as a scream catches their ears.

Brock winces. “Rumors, of course, sir. He’s a Soviet era Red Room experiment, right? Best assassin in the world, or so the legend goes.”

“Yes, though not as much a rumor as we’d thought,” Pierce replies. “He’s real, and inside the Vault.”

Brock can’t help it; he cranes his head to get a glimpse of the man, but sees nothing. “How can I help, sir?”

“We’ve taken him out of his cryostasis, but he’s unpredictable, and he doesn’t know where he is or what year it is. I’d like to give him the opportunity to meet his team lead so the two of you can talk. I think a soldier may be more to his liking than the horde of scientists he’s been around.”

Brock can hardly believe his ears. “He’s going to be on a team?”

“Yes, Rumlow. I believe he’ll be an excellent fit on your STRIKE team.”

Brock straightens. “I won’t let you down, sir.”

“You never do,” Pierce says, and Brock silently preens at the positive attention. “I know I can depend upon you for whatever’s needed.”

Brock enters the secondary section of the Vault, sees the Soldier pacing back and forth from across the room. It takes the Soldier no time at all to snap his attention up and focus completely on Brock. “Hey, man,” Brock says, keeping his voice light and unthreatening. “I’m Agent Rumlow, I hear we’re going to…”

His voice cuts off as insanely strong metal fingers wrap around his windpipe. Brock never sees the Soldier move; and no matter how hard he kicks, the Soldier doesn’t even seem to feel it. Brock’s head slams into the wall behind him and he groans. And then freezes as the Soldier buries his face in Brock’s neck. 

“Uh,” Brock says, as the fingers lessen their pressure slightly. “Hi?”

“омега,” the Soldier growls, and licks a stripe up the side of Brock’s neck.

Brock whines, arches his neck to give the Soldier more access. And then his brain catches up to his body and he shouts, “What the fuck?”

“I might’ve forgotten to mention the Winter Soldier’s an Alpha,” Pierce says, from the other side of the caged-in room. “And in need of a mate to stabilize him.”

Brock howls, betrayed by this man for the second time and pissed as hell. “Well I’m not looking for a mate,” he snarls, despite the grip the Soldier has on him. “I told you when you hired me…”

“Times have changed, sweet Omega,” Pierce replies. “Your body shares the same serum that makes the Winter Soldier so indestructible; you two are genetically perfect for each other. Perfect to mate, and breed a new generation of soldiers for the glory of Hydra.”

“I’m not some bitch to breed!” Brock shouts, and stifles a groan as the Soldier paws at him through his jeans. “And he can’t even knock me up since I’m not in heat, so let me the fuck out of here!”

“Something you may find interesting about your own biology, Rumlow, is that the bite of an omega’s true Alpha can induce a mating frenzy. Soldier – укуси.”

The Soldier jerks Brock’s head to the side, buries his teeth into the juncture of Brock’s neck right over the sacred place that will tie him forever to this ghost, this killing machine twice as strong as he is. “No. Please…”

But as he speaks, he’s wrapping his legs around the other man’s body, rubbing his groin against the Soldier’s. “Please, don’t do this,” Brock says, looking to Pierce one last time. “Please, not again.”

“See you in three days, gentlemen,” Pierce says.

The Soldier’s too busy pulling at Brock’s clothes to reply; and with his metal hand still around Brock’s neck, the omega has no choice but to obey the Alpha rutting over him.

** July 2009 **

Brock shifts his weight from foot-to-foot, staring out the window of Pierce’s office. Pierce is still on the phone, ignoring him. He thinks about what would happen if he simply threw the older Alpha out of one of the high windows.

The noise of the phone sliding back into its cradle pulls him from his pleasant thoughts. “You wanted to see me?”

“Our physicians tell me you’re with child,” Pierce says, smiling pleasantly. “Congratulations.”

Brock says nothing, lets none of his hatred show on his face. “I won’t be keeping it,” he replies.

“You will.”

“Or what? You’ll kill me?” Brock laughs without humor. “Defeats the purpose, doesn’t it?”

“No, of course I wouldn’t kill you,” Pierce replies. “That would definitely defeat the purpose of having you. I would, however, strap you down for the next six months until you birthed your pup, and then allow your mate to impregnate you again, and again, until death seemed like your best option. I’m sure you could be bred for what – eight, nine more years? How long do you think you could stay in a cage before it drove you mad?”

He’d be forty then. Brock swallows hard, leans back from the man sitting across from him. “Why do you want it so badly?”

“The serum isn’t working on other test subjects the way it did on you,” Pierce says. “So if we can’t change men as we changed you, then we need a bigger breeding pool to create loyalists.”

“And what am I supposed to do with my team? Milk runs for the next six months? Rollins has already noticed the mating bite – he’s definitely going to notice we’re being pulled from active rosters.”

“By Thursday it won’t matter. Rollins will be assigned the team leader for STRIKE team one, and you’ll be out of the team on a special detail for my personal security.”

Brock blinks. “I’m sorry, what?”

“The team’s more than capable of continuing missions, Rumlow. You’re the only one needing to be careful. So the team will continue on temporarily without you. And when you give birth, if you wish, you can rejoin them.”

“And what about my pup?”

“I’ll raise him as his uncle.” At the look of horror on Brock’s face, Pierce says, “Don’t worry. He’ll be sent to the best schools, and tutored until he’s old enough to show his secondary gender. At that time, we’ll make sure he’s loyal, and ask him to join our great cause.”

“And you’ll use him to create more and more loyalists, until he’s nothing but a machine.”

“You’re getting a bit old for us to expect many more children out of you,” Pierce says. “This will be our second hope for the next generation. Think about it, won’t you? Look at the legacy you’ll be leaving behind.”

Brock unconsciously puts a hand on his stomach. It’s not the kind of legacy he’d ever wanted to leave behind. And he knows what Pierce says is true; he either carries the pup to term or condemns himself to nine years of torture and death as soon as he’s no longer of use. “I want to be able to see it,” he says, the words leaving his mouth without his approval. “While it’s growing up. If I’m going to have a pup, then I want to be able to see it.”

“I have no problems with that,” Pierce says. “Supervised, of course. You’re more than welcome to have a relationship with your pup and keep its loyalty strong.”

Brock nods. “Unless I’m suddenly killed in action under friendly fire,” he adds, bitterly.

“Agent Rumlow…”

“Brock.”

“Brock. I’m not a complete monster, you know. If you wish to be part of the child’s life, and cooperate with the rules I’ve decided, then I won’t stop you. In fact, it might be good for the pup to know its mother so it can see how desperately order is needed in the world.”

Brock doesn’t respond; he keeps rubbing the tiny bulge in his stomach in fear.

** January 2010 **

“Push! Push!” the doctor shouts at him, until he can’t breathe and he feels arms holding him down, pressure in his sides like his ribs are crushing inward.

** April 2011 **

Max is slowly waking from his nap. 

Brock tiptoes into the room, unwilling to frighten his pup, tucking the stuffed dinosaur into the boy’s crib. He brushes a dark hair off Max’s forehead, and smiles at him. “Hey little man,” Brock coos. “Daddy’s here to visit. You gonna open your eyes for me?”

Brock never expected to take to parenting; hell, as soon as he held the child, he’d almost decided against rejoining his STRIKE team. But three weeks of intensive workouts had him back in shape and ready to go, so he’d left the infant with Pierce, and shot enough men to help fill the ridiculous hole in his heart. 

Rollins had never forgiven him for being mated to another, but it seems murder was the best way they got along, anyway.

Max lets out a little growl and Brock melts, scooping the pup out of the crib and curling it into his own neck. “That’s right, baby. It’s Daddy. Daddy, can you say Daddy?”

“He might be a little young for that,” Pierce says, walking into the bedroom behind him. Brock wants to tell the older man to piss off, but since he’s in Pierce’s home, he stays silent. “You surprise me, Brock. I never expected you to stay in his life for so long.”

“Maksim needs as many people in his life as he can get,” Brock responds, glaring. “And as he’s mine, I’ll be staying as long as possible.”

“Of course you will. Where’s his nanny?”

“She went downstairs to get him a fresh bottle so I could feed him.”

Pierce nods, and gestures towards the rocking chair in the corner. “Have a seat and I’ll bring you a towel for when you burp him.”

Brock sits, nuzzles the boy in his arms. “Max,” he whispers. “Max, can you hear my voice? Will you open your eyes for me, little man? Huh?”

The baby gurgles and opens his eyes.

They’re the same stunning blue as Max’s father’s.

** August 2012 **

“Nick Fury is giving command of STRIKE team one to Captain Rogers,” Pierce says, without preamble.

“Yes, sir,” Brock replies, quietly screaming on the inside. But he doesn’t have a leg to stand on anymore; he belongs wholly and completely to the man in front of him, as much an Asset as the Winter Soldier. It’s funny how he and his mate are matching pairs; both slaves to the wheels of Hydra.

Brock wonders if the Soldier had a choice in the matter like he did.

“Also, we had an issue during the Battle of New York; come to find out, the cryostasis chamber had its pressurization affected by the multiple power surges. We’ll be taking your mate out of cryo tomorrow to do repairs. I expect you to be in the Vault at 0800 for his needs.”

“There won’t be a mating frenzy this time,” Brock says. “And I’m nowhere near…”

“Easy, Brock,” Pierce replies, laughing at him. “This isn’t a breeding expedition. Just service him as he sees fit and then you can go back to your team.”

“When does Captain Rogers intend to take the reins?”

“Sometime next week,” Pierce says. “I thought you’d appreciate advanced notice.”

“Thank you, sir,” Brock says. He stares over Pierce’s shoulder at the wall, ignores the way he aches for losing control of the STRIKE team – the _only_ thing he had any control over in his life at all. “Permission to go off-base for some supplies, sir?”

“What sorts of supplies?”

Brock somehow manages to keep the blush off of his face. “The Winter Soldier isn’t exactly gentle. I’d prefer not to be out of commission in the field if I can take preventative measures. Sir.”

Pierce snorts. “Permission granted. Remember: tomorrow at 0800.”

“Yes, sir.”

The knotting dildo and lube doesn’t help much when the Winter Soldier pushes him face-down onto the floor and fucks into him. Brock closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see the way the scientists stare at the two of them, watching him spread and arch for the Russian Alpha. He bites his lip against the sounds that want to come out, but the Soldier doesn't seem to approve of that. “Let me hear,” the Alpha orders, broken English spilling over his lips.

And as Omega, Brock has no choice but to indulge the man, whimpering and moaning for the Alpha’s entertainment.

They knot; as the Soldier curls around him, Brock folds in on himself, wrapping a hand around his own length in a desperate bid for orgasm. The Soldier slaps his hand away. “Good omega comes from his Alpha or not at all,” the Soldier snarls, jamming his knot further into Brock. “Come from this?”

Brock’s arousal, mostly brought on by pressure, dies a quick death. “Fuck you,” he grunts. “I’ll take care of it myself later.”

The Soldier roars, yanking free of Brock’s body and causing the Omega agony. Brock finds himself on his back with two hands wrapped around his neck. The Soldier jerks Brock’s head to the side and bites hard enough to break the skin. Brock cries out and bows down to the Alpha immediately. “Sorry!” he shouts over the snarls and howling. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

The metal fingers dig deeper into his skin. “You’re _mine_. You belong to me, mine omega.”

“Yours,” Brock croaks, petting at the metal arm. “Please, can’t… breathe…”

The pressure vanishes. “We try again.”

Brock can feel the blood trickling down his thighs, but rolls to his knees anyway. He’ll take the abuse – as much abuse as he needs to – in order to keep Max safely away from the Soldier.

And one day, to take him away from Hydra’s reach.

** April 2014 **

“Whoa, big guy,” Brock says, holding out his hands. Bodies are strewn around the elevator and Captain America looks about ready to break him in half. “I don’t want to do this, this is nothing personal.”

“It sure feels personal,” Cap replies.

Brock winces; blood’s running down the side of his face, but he knows his options. He either takes down Captain America, or he dies – leaving his son to the sharks.

“I’m sorry,” he says. It’s the most honest thing he’s ever said in his life.

It doesn’t stop the Captain from slamming his head into a wall. As the lights go out, he wonders whether or not he’s just damned his son or not.

**Author's Note:**

> A definite Part 3 of this series is in works. Thanks for reading!


End file.
